


Together All The While

by AcrylicBooks



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cersei is the evil stepmother, Cinderella AU, Davos is da Vinci, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Inspired by Ever After (1998), Minor Character Death, because why not?, who's surprised? not me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2019-08-24 18:23:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16645457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AcrylicBooks/pseuds/AcrylicBooks
Summary: Sansa Stark wanted to keep her household together. She borrowed a dress.Prince Jon wanted to escape his fate. He stole a horse.





	1. It Vanished Away From My Hand

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my Jonsa Ever After!AU. It's based on the 1998 movie and the novelization of the screenplay. Characters have been cast as they relate to Jon and Sansa, so it's a little weird. Fic title from the song Never Say Never by The Fray. Not beta read so all mistakes are mine. Feel free to ask any questions or tell me if something doesn't make sense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Runaway by AURORA

A carriage came rolling down the quiet tree-lined lane. As the sun rose it burned off the morning dew and created a luminous golden fog all around the countryside. The carriage was drawing ever closer to the large manor house sitting nestled in the foothills of the mountains.

The inside of the Stark manor, Winterfell, did not reflect the quiet morning outside, as servants scurried about preparing for the arrival of their master. Sansa Stark stood in front of her mirror and bounced on the balls of her feet awaiting her father’s return. She brushed her sea green silk dress, so it lay precisely as it should. Her long red hair fell around her face in soft curls and she smiled at herself in the mirror. Sansa loved looking like a proper lady and didn’t often get the chance to do so. Today was an especially thrilling occasion for the girl.

“I’m so excited I can hardly breathe!” Sansa declared to her maids. “I get a mother and sisters all in one day!” Sansa twirled around to watch her dress billow out around her.

“Yes, it’s going to be very exciting around here what with the Lady and all. Oh, hold still!” cried old Nan placing her hands on Sansa’s shoulders to keep her in place.

“The master deserves some happiness after all this time. Bringing up a child all on his own,” Shae walked around the room putting away linens, “Oh, she must be lovely.”

“I hope she likes me,” Sansa said brushing her hands through her hair and fiddling with the small silver wolf pin in her dress.

“She’ll love you, just as I do,” said Shae, “Just be the proper little lady I know you can be.” Shae reached out and tapped the girl on the nose. Sansa smiled in response. She had always wanted to be a refined lady, as her mother had been. As her father alone had raised her, Sansa felt the lack of a woman’s influence on her life. She had a tutor, who taught her art, dancing, and history. Her father also made sure she learned how to run the whole household and even made her learn to fence. Sansa despised fencing, she would much rather spend her time reading or sewing, but she had been fencing since she was three and now at eight she could hold her own.

There was a scattering of small rocks against the window and Sansa ran to push the shutters open. 

“Child your father arrives any moment!” scolded Old Nan as Sansa dashed out of her grasp to the other side of the room. At the window Sansa as a young boy a few years older than her on the ground with a handful of tiny pebbles. His hair was disheveled, and he wore a wrinkled white shirt.

“Theon, I told you, not today!” Sansa shouted down to him.

“You look like a girl!” He replied astounded.

“That’s what I AM, halfwit!” She yelled crossly to him. He raised his eyebrows at her in a mocking expression.

“Yeah, but today you look it!” He said disdainfully. Sansa narrowed her eyes at him and knew she couldn’t let the insult stand.

“Boy or girl, I can still whip you!” Sansa returned.

“Ha!” Exclaimed Theon and took off running. Sansa followed, racing through the house, laughing. Sansa had to catch him. She could not this insult to her honor stand.  
˜  
As Ned Stark rode up to his home, the first thing he noticed was that Sansa was not among the rest of his people. He dismounted and reached out to clasp his steward's hand.

“Welcome home, my lord, I see you have brought us a mistress,” Jory said smiling.

“I have brought you an entire household, Jory,” Ned said clapping him on the shoulder, “But, I seem to be missing a daughter,” Ned gazed around the yard and still saw no sign of Sansa.

As the carriage drew to a stop in front of the door all the servants stood at attention. First, two young girls stepped out. both were of a similar age with Sansa and looked at their surroundings with curiosity. Then a delicate hand emerged from the carriage door and rested on the outstretched arm of the footman. The woman who belonged to the hand came walking down the carriage steps like royalty. Cersei Stark, née Lannister’s crimson and amber gown and elaborate hairstyle made quite the impression on the servants. Cersei surveyed the manor and land with the air of someone who was expecting more but would settle with what she had for the time being. She turned to her new husband and smiled affectionately at him.

“Oh, Ned, it’s charming, really,” Cersei intoned reaching out to Ned. Before she could reach him however a child covered in mud came running up to him and flung herself into his arms.

“Papa!” Sansa cried as she raced toward her father. Ned lifted her in his arms and swung Sansa around kissing her on the cheek.

“Oh, look at you! Just as I left you,” he said setting her on the ground. “I wager you friend Theon is around here someplace," Ned looked around for the boy.

“No Ser, I slaughtered him,” Sansa said formally, with a straight face, raising her hand to point behind her father. Ned raised his eyebrows in surprise and turned to find Theon walking up to them covered in mud from head to toe with a defeated countenance.

“Why, so you did,” Ned laughed. “I had hoped to present a little lady, but I suppose you’ll have to do.” Ned winked at his daughter whose face was quickly turning a bright red to match her hair. “Sansa,” he said turning her to face the lady in front of her, “may I present Lady Cersei Lannister and her daughters. Arya and Myrcella” the two girls looked close to Sansa’s age and both were dressed handsomely, the one with black hair in turquoise brocade and the blonde in rose silk.

“Hello, Sansa,” Cersei said coolly, she had watched the scene play out with an air of distaste that she worked to conceal. “At last we meet. Your father speaks of nothing else.” She paused to smile down at Sansa. “Ladies, say hello to your new stepsister.”

“Sansa,” the two girls said in unison as they curtsied. Sansa returned the curtsies with one of her own and felt entirely ashamed of the state of her new silk dress in the face of the two spotless girls, and her tall beautiful stepmother.  
˜  
“Utopia,” Sansa said quizzically, sounding out the word. It looked funny to her and she turned the book to better see the gold embossed cover in the light of the crackling fire.

“It means paradise,” Ned said, taking the small book from her, “this may be a bit thick for a girl of eight years, but I thought we could add it to our library, your mother loved books,” Ned looked at Sansa and smiled. He had done his best to raise her on his own. At first, it had been all seven hells without Catelyn. He could barely look at their infant daughter for her resemblance to her mother.

“Will you read some?” asked Sansa. She was really hoping for more information about her mother. Her father was always very close-lipped when it came to her mother. Sansa knew her name, Catelyn Tully, that she had red hair like Sansa and a magnificent wedding dress that was kept in a trunk for Sansa’s own wedding someday.

“It’s been a very long day, love,” said Ned reaching out to brush Sansa’s scarlet hair out of her face.

“And you’re a husband now,” Sansa said, smiling at her father.

“Yes, a husband, but a father first and forever. We’ve been inseparable you and I for a very long time now. I suppose this will take some getting used to,” he motioned for her to get under the covers as he tucked her in.

“Did you see the way they ate their supper?” Sansa asked, “It was perfect, like a dance!” Sansa was elated at how distinguished her new family acted and would hopefully teach her to act.

“Do you like them?” Ned asked cautiously.

“Very much,” Sansa replied. She was still intimidated by her new family but she wanted to make sure her father knew that she would come to love them.

“Good, good,” Ned nodded his head, “because I have to go to Oldtown in a fortnight,”

“But you just got back!” Sansa complained sitting straight up in bed.

“I know,” Ned smiled at her.

“For how long?” Sansa demanded.

“Only, three weeks,” Ned held out his hands placatively.

“One,”

“Two,”

“One,” 

“Two,” Ned said firmly. Then he dared to look into his daughter’s blue eyes that she had somehow managed to make into two huge pools nigh on the verge of tears and he felt himself relenting already.

“Please,” She whispered.

“Alright, one,” he said. Sansa giggled and hugged him tightly. Ned laughed. “Goodnight, my wolf pup, sleep tight,” he said as he left the room thinking about how easily Sansa could get him to do anything. Ned knew he would tear the world apart for her, just to rebuild it as she saw fit. He smiled to himself and wished she would give him the opportunity to do just that.  
˜  
A rooster crowed, and a wolf howled in response. 

Ned Stark came to the door of his estate and felt a strange pain in his arm, he thought he must be getting old, and tried to shake it off. He looked out at his assembled family and household and chuckled.

“I’ve never seen so many gloomy faces around here, I shall be back in a week.” He said coming up to stand before his new wife and gripping her arms.

“Then go,” Cersei brought her hands up to rest on his chest, “the sooner you leave the sooner we can celebrate your return.” He kissed her gently on the mouth before pulling away.

“Perhaps by then the three of you will have got to know each other better, eh?” he said brushing each of the girls’ cheeks with his finger. When he got to Sansa he crouched down in front of her to address her. “I’m counting on you to teach them the ropes around here, the Lady isn’t used to getting her hands dirty,” Ned teased, he looked to Cersei and smiled, Cersei returned his smile with a slight frown and lowered her gaze. Ned turned back to Sansa, gave her a kiss on the cheek and turned to mount his horse. As he did so his arm pained him again and he had trouble gripping the reins. Jory held them out to him and he took them cautiously “Thank you, Jory,” he said.

“Safe journey milord,” Jory said. Sansa watched as her father turned and rode down toward the main gate.

“Come along ladies,” Cersei said, clapping her hands and turning to go back inside, “back to your lessons,”

“Wait!” Sansa said, “It’s tradition, he always waves at the gate,” Cersei gave Sansa a pitting look and a half-smile but continued back inside. Sansa turned away from her new stepmother and ran past all the servants, to the edge of the road, to wave to her father once he reached the gate. 

He never reached the gate. 

Ned was only halfway there when he felt the shooting pain in his arm reach up to his chest and squeeze his heart. Ned gripped at his chest, groaned, lost his balance, and fell from his horse to the ground, landing hard on his stomach. 

“PAPA!” Sansa screamed as she started to run to him, her own heart dropping to her feet. The servants gasped, all of them running after Sansa.

Cersei came back to the door at the sound of Sansa’s scream, she stopped for a moment hand going to her mouth in shock. She ran down the road, skirts billowing behind her and collapsed at Ned’s side. 

“Oh, Ned,” she whispered, reaching out with one hand to grip his shoulder and one to brush his hair, Ned turned to look at her, his breath coming labored and shallow. Their eyes met briefly before Ned turned back to Sansa. Ned reached out to Sansa who was now sobbing uncontrollably.

“I love you,” he gasped, “I love you.” He stroked her hair with the last of his fading strength and then his hand fell, and he stopped breathing.

Cersei watched Sansa and knew that her husband had chosen to lavish the last of his love on his daughter than on his wife. Cersei felt pain and jealousy and contempt at that moment. Pain because her husband was dying in her arms. Jealously because he chose to say farewell to Sansa and contempt for this whole situation, a widow twice over, left to manage a whole household and raise three children, alone, she was always alone. Tears streaked down her face and she shook her head denial setting in.

“No!” Cersei gasped.

“Papa!” Sansa cried.

“Ned, you cannot leave me here!” Cersei sobbed. Sansa took her father’s lifeless hand in her own and held it to her cheek as she let out several shuddering breaths. “You cannot leave me here!” Cersei wailed. Cersei allowed Jory to lift her up and she clung to him for support.

“Papa,” Sansa hugged her father’s body, and when Nan and Shae tried to pull her back she pushed them away. “Leave me, leave me!” her voice was weak and full of tears, but she was resolute and powerful in her grief. “Papa please come back!” she begged him, but he did not move. 

The morning was picturesque, crisp air, carrying the scent of sweet apples, golden sunlight dappling the ground. But, as with many things, the morning was not what it seemed. Because on that particular morning one little girl’s world crumbled around her. Sansa Stark was left with only ashes to sweep up.


	2. Flowers In My Garden, Die Faster Than They Grow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Sorry by Seinabo Sey

Ten years later…

“I signed a marriage treaty with the Warden of the South and by the Seven that boy will obey my command or there will be hells to pay!” King Rhaegar stormed. It was so dark in the halls of the Red Keep that he could barely see the distraught face of his wife. Moonlight streamed in through the high windows and made everything around them fragile and dreamlike. Everything, including his wife, her concerned face adding to his own somber mood. Her chestnut hair was swept up in a nightcap, little greying pieces of it were escaping, her white nightgown flowing around her feet like a cloud. She was a lovely vision. He had to pull his eyes away from her to maintain his anger at their son.

“But he does not love her, my Lord!” Cried Queen Lyanna. They were walking down the halls in the middle of the night because the king couldn’t sleep and felt the need to confront their son about his latest rejection of his parental and sovereign authority.

“It’s not about love!” Rhaegar responded.

“Perhaps it should be!” Insisted the queen, “Or have you forgotten that we married for love?” 

Rhaegar chose to ignore that last point. 

“If he is to become King he must learn to accept his responsibilities,” Rhaegar’s stride never broke as he kept walking. Lyanna however, stopped and planted her feet. She grumbled in frustration.

“A sapling cannot grow in the shadow of a mighty oak, Rhaegar, he needs sunlight!” The queen gestured about wildly.

“He needs a good whipping,” Rhaegar said turning back to his wife. Lyanna huffed and followed Rhaegar down the hall.

“Really Rhaegar, can’t this wait till morning?”

“If I can’t sleep neither shall he! Jon wake up!” the King burst into his sons’ room, past the posted guard, and was hit with the immediate realization that the bed was empty, and a makeshift rope was tied to the bedpost, leading out the window.

“Oh, no,” Lyanna sighed, “not again,” she sank to the bed. “Jon why?” She murmured as she placed her head in her hands. 

“Get Ser Barristan!” King Rhaegar yelled to the guard outside the door. “My son is gone, again! Call out the Kingsguard, and the city watch! Bring him back!” commanded King Rhaegar, storming from the room.

˜

As soon as Jon heard his parents echoing voices down the hall he hastened his escape. Jon loved his parents deeply, but he refused to marry someone he had no feelings for, so he was running away. Jon pulled his hood up and move quickly but carefully out the window and refused to look at how high up he was as he climbed down the side of the castle.

The moonlight seemed to make the air colder as it whipped around him. For a moment, when he was halfway down the tower, he felt as if he was swimming in the sky. He leaned back and breathed deeply. In that instant, he knew freedom. Then the moment ended, as he heard more voices above him. Jon swiftly climbed the rest of the way to the ground, jumping the last few feet.

His horse was waiting for him. Courtesy of a few well-placed bribes. As Jon swung himself up onto the horse he pulled his cloak tight around himself against the frosty night air. Jon spurred his horse on, feeling a nervous energy build inside him as he started making his way through the city, into the darkness.

Escape was possible, and Jon knew this time he had to succeed. Because this time he would head north.

˜

Sansa lay curled around herself at the hearth of the kitchen fire whose last embers were burning themselves out. in her hands she clutched Utopia, the last gift from her father after so many years of reading it, the book was worn at the edges and the cover was tattered. A layer of ash clung to Sansa, from head to foot, turning her fair complexion palled, and her long red hair, grey.

The sun hadn’t yet risen but a rooster crowed and tore Sansa from a sweet dream and a warm sleep. Sansa stretched with a yawn and rose to start doing her chores in the frigid morning air. First, she tied a scarf around her hair to keep it out of her face as she worked. Only a few wispy grey hairs flew around her face, but she couldn’t be bothered to care about her looks now. Sansa hadn’t been able to care about how she looked for ten years. Ever since her father died she felt an empty ache in her heart where his love used to be. 

Sansa couldn’t bring herself to care about things like looks anymore. She cared about what he left her, the house, and the servants, and the book. As she watered the dying crops one bucket of water at a time, she felt a despair creep in. For years Sansa had been trying to keep the gardens and orchards alive, but the prospects dimmed as winter approached.

The house, Winterfell was falling apart and in need of many repairs. The roof leaked, the house needed a fresh coat of paint, and they kept having to shut up rooms, so they could heat the house.

After Sansa fed the animals and had chopped enough firewood for the day she made her way to the orchard. The orchard was the one thing that seemed to maintain itself, as it kept producing fruit. There were always enough apples to keep them fed. Sansa hated apples. But she picked them up anyway. Using her apron as a makeshift basket she collected enough apples to make several pies, tarts, and cakes. As she headed back to the manor Sansa wished for some lemons. Lemon cakes were her favorite and she hadn’t had any in years. But, lemons came all the way from Dorne and were too expensive. So, Sansa tried to think them into existence, remembering the tart taste in her mouth, and the way the fresh smell filled the kitchen.

A loud whinny from the stables startled Sansa from her daydreams of lemon cakes. Sansa blinked in bewilderment as her father’s old black stallion came racing from the stables, jumped over a half-wall, and galloped straight for her. 

“Oh, come on! Stupid beast, come on!” The rider urged the horse on. He was covered in a thick black hooded cloak and hunched forward in the saddle.

“Oh no, you don’t!” Sansa was livid. How dare someone try to steal her father’s horse. She grabbed an apple from her apron and threw it at the would-be thief. To her immense satisfaction, it hit him square on the forehead. The unforeseen blow knocked the man from the horse and he landed flat on his back. The rider rose with a grunt and stumbled, covering his face with his hands. Sansa let most of the apples drop to the ground as she threw several more.

“Thief!” she roared as she pelted the man with apples. “This will teach you to steal my father’s horse!”

“Please, my own has slipped his shoe and I have no choice!” the man cried.

“And our choice is what? To let you?” Sansa’s blue eyes flashed.

“Wait!” the man said trying to shield himself, “Ow!”

“How dare you!” Sansa was enraged that someone would come into her father’s house and try to steal his prized horse.

“I was merely borrowing it.” The man said, trying to hide behind the horse that wouldn’t stay still as Sansa kept hitting him with apples. At least they were good for something, Sansa thought.

“Get out! before I wake the house!” Sansa cried. The stallion reared up knocking the man to the ground. Sansa ran over, apple in hand ready to hit him again if necessary.

The man quickly rose to his feet and straightened out his cloak. His hood had fallen back, and Sansa could now see his face. Sansa’s heart dropped because she recognized that face. The man before her had dark curly hair, that was tied back, dark eyes, a beard, and a melancholy countenance.

Sansa had seen this man before when her family had gone to King’s Landing. Sansa had seen him riding in parades and waving at crowds. The man before her was Prince Jon. The Prince of Dragonstone.

Sansa immediately threw herself to her knees and bent so far down her face was in the grass. She started shaking.

“Forgive me, Your Grace, I did not see you.” The prince looked down incredulously at his bruised body as he brought his hand to his aching head.

“Your aim would suggest otherwise,” he said dryly. Sansa felt tears prick the back of her throat.

“And for that I know I must die!” Sansa cried. Her heart was beating so wildly she feared it burst from her chest. Prince Jon looked around them, made a face and mounted the horse.

“Uh, then, speak of this to no one and, uh, I shall be lenient,” he said diplomatically. Sansa couldn’t believe it. She glanced up at him, but he seemed to be paying her no mind.

“We have other horses, Your Grace, younger if that is your wish,” Sansa told him gently, hoping he would still leave the horse.

“I wish for nothing more than to be free of my gilded cage,” Jon said gently. He took out a pouch and dropped the contents in front of her. The coins made a musical clattering sound as they fell, “for your silence,” he said as he galloped off on the horse.

Sansa was too afraid to lift her head until he had ridden off when she did she found a small pile of twenty gold dragons in front of her. Sansa reached out to touch one. Had this really happened? Was she still dreaming? But the coin was solid. As she gathered up the coins Sansa laughed with relief. She knew just what to do with them.

˜

“I said I wanted four-minute eggs, not four one-minute eggs, and where is our bread!” shouted Myrcella, giving Shae a stare that could curdle milk.

“Just coming out of the oven my lady,” Shae ducked her head and took the bowl of eggs, she struggled to not break the eggs over the girl’s head.

“Myrcella, precious, what do I always say about tone?” said Cersei dabbing at her mouth with her napkin.

“A lady of breeding ought never to raise her voice any louder than the gentle hum of a whispering wind,” Arya said she got quieter and quieter until the last word was a whisper almost too low to be heard.

“Arya, dear, do not speak unless you can improve the silence,” Cersei said, annoyed. Arya smirked and ignored her mother in favor of polishing her knife.

“I was not shrill, I was resonant, a lady of the court would know the difference,” Myrcella said primly, brushing her golden hair behind her shoulder.

“I very much doubt your style of resonance would be permitted in the royal court.” Cersei raised her eyebrows and looked down her nose at her daughter.

“Well I’m not going to the royal court, am I mother?” Myrcella crossed her arms, “No one is, except some pig from the Reach they have the nerve to call a princess.”

“Darling, she’s not a princess yet, nothing is final until you’re dead and even then, I’m sure the gods negotiate,” Cersei cracked her own egg and looked over her breakfast, “Why is there no salt on this table?” she sighed, and her shoulders fell “Sansa!” she shouted for her stepdaughter voice piercing the otherwise calm morning.

Arya twitched at the sound and tried to picture training exercises instead of this dull breakfast.

˜

Sansa could here Cersei yelling from the kitchen door. Her heart jumped at the sound of her own name.

“Coming!” Sansa yelled back, spilling the slightly bruised apples on the old wooden work table.

“Oh, she’s in one of her moods.” Old Nan muttered, frowning, as she sliced the fresh loaf of bread and wrapped it in a cloth.

“Did the sun rise in the east?” Shae asked as she stoked the fire.

“Yes, Shae, it did,” Sansa smiled “And it is going to be a beautiful day!” as she poured the gold coins onto the table. The coins made a melodic jingling as they landed in a pile.

“Oh! Look at all those dragons!” Old Nan exclaimed, picking up a coin from the pile, “child where did you get this?” she asked, taken aback.

“from an angel of mercy, and I know just what to do with them,” Sansa replied walking over and taking Shae’s hand.

“Jory?” Shae started to cry, and Sansa hugged her fiercely.

“If my stepmother can sell your husband to pay for her taxes then these can certainly bring him home,” Sansa straightened her back and held the other woman at arm’s length to look her in the eyes.

“But the king has sold him the Night’s Watch, He’s bound for the wall.” Shae started to weep. Sansa steeled her resolve.

“This is our home and I will not see it fall apart.” She said as she picked up the bread and a small dish of salt.

“I’m waiting!” came a loud cry from upstairs.

“Oh, take em, mistress,” Old Nan said as she placed the handful of gold into Sansa’s apron pocket, “Or these coins are as good as hers’ already” Sansa nodded and braced herself to face another day with her “family” and walked up the stairs to the dining room.

“Morning madam, Myrcella, Arya,” Sansa said as a course of habit.

“Hello.” Arya murmured smiling at Sansa. Arya tried desperately to be as kind as she dared to her stepsister while her mother was in the room.

“I trust you slept well,” Sansa directed this solely to Arya because she was the only one who would meet her eyes. Arya nodded at her and the side of Sansa’s mouth quirked up as she set the bread on the table.

“What kept you?” Cersei picked up a piece of bread without even glancing at Sansa.

“I . . . fell off the ladder in the orchard, but I am better now” Sansa paused placing the dish of salt on the table.

“Someone’s been reading in the fireplace again, look at you, ash and soot everywhere,” Myrcella said disdainfully.

“Some people read because they can’t think for themselves,” Cersei said as she reached for her wine glass.

“Why don’t you sleep with the pigs’ Cindersoot? If you insist on smelling like one?” Myrcella taunted. Arya almost reached across the table to slap her sister, but Sansa covertly moved her hand behind her back to signal it was alright. Arya took a deep breath and gripped her silverware tighter.

“Oh, that was harsh Myrcella. Sansa come here child,” Cersei said grabbing Sansa’s hand and pulling her close, “Your appearance does reflect a certain,” here she waved her hand around as if gesturing for the right word would make it appear, “Crudeness my dear,” Cersei said, taking in the faded blue dress covered in soot and the dirt smudges on Sansa’s face “What can I do to make you try?”

Sansa took in her stepmother at the same time, appraising her elaborately done hair, wine-colored gown, and tiny lion jewelry. Sansa found her lacking. “I do try, stepmother,” she replied voice shaking slightly. “I do wish to please you, sometimes I sit on my own and try to think of what else I could do, how I should act-” Cersei cut her off there, holding up a hand.

“Oh, calm down child. Relax.” She said letting go of Sansa’s hand and turning her attention back to her breakfast. Sansa started to walk away and hesitated before turning back to her stepmother.

“Perhaps,” She wavered for just a moment, “If we brought back Jory, I would not offend you so.” Jory had always shielded her from her stepmother’s disapproval. He offered advice when she needed it and none if she didn’t. he was like an older brother to her and the closest thing she had to a father now.

“It is your manner that offends Sansa, throughout these hard times I have sheltered you clothed you and cared for you,” Arya frowned, she knew her mother had never cared for Sansa. Cersei continued, “All that I ask in return is that you help me here without complaint. Is that such an extraordinary request?” she finished face turning red and voice rising. Arya looked at her plate as soon as Sansa brought up Jory, she knew her mother was sensitive about keeping up appearances and not being able to keep a full household of servants was something Cersei would never acknowledge.

“No, my Lady,” Sansa cast her eyes down to her feet as her whole body tensed. This calmed Cersei and she raised her chin in a dismissive manner.

“Very well, we shall have no more talk of servants coming back, is that quite understood?” She asked looking Sansa in the eye.

“Yes, my Lady,” Sansa nodded face flushing as she met her stepmother’s green gaze across the room.

“After all I do, after all, I have done. It is never enough.” Cersei huffed and turned back to her food. Sansa left the room emotions churning within her. Embarrassment, shame, anger, and determination. She had to get Jory back, straightaway. “Now my eggs are cold” Cersei muttered, under her breath. Arya watched Sansa leave and silently sipped her drink. Myrcella looked smugly at Sansa’s retreating form.

A tense quiet filled the room as each person returned to their thoughts. Cersei thought about how insolent Sansa could be after she had kept that girl under her roof when she should have thrown her out. Myrcella thought of things she could say to seduce the prince and make him fall in love with her. Arya thought about how many servants they had lost over the years, they seemed to run from her mother like mice. As the servants left, Winterfell decayed around them. It made Arya sorrowful for the beautiful house but, mostly for Sansa. Sansa was kinder to her than anyone else had been and Arya wanted to make sure she was repaid for that kindness.


	3. And I Was Running Far Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Runaway by Aurora

The horse was temperamental for its age. Jon knew a more inexperienced horseman would have had trouble. Fortunately, Jon had been riding horses since he could walk. His mother was an accomplished horsewoman and had taught him everything she knew. Jon was thankful for it now as he rode through the dark forests. The roads here were rough and sometimes hidden or obscured by underbrush. It was very different from the wide, flat, and well maintained, Kingsroad.

As Jon maneuvered the stallion in the general direction he wanted to go he tried to ignore the throbbing in his head. That servant had been relentless. Jon admired that in her, the extreme loyalty. She must love her master dearly. Jon wished he could find the same loyalty in himself to devote his life to a cause, mission, or another person, like knights, did in songs. He was going to be the king of his country someday and he didn’t feel any devotion to it. The thought made him mourn for a passion he did not have.

Jon snapped out of his thoughts when he came upon a band of wagons on the road ahead of him. He stopped just short of them. His horse whinnied and stamped his feet. Something was wrong. Men shouted and cursed and rummaged through the wagons. Wildlings. Groups of traveling tribes that ransacked travelers throughout the kingdom. It angered Jon to know that even his roads weren’t safe. As Jon contemplated if he could take on all of them himself, he saw them turn to him and one man whistled and called out.

“Castle guard!” the man cried. Jon felt his heart drop. He glanced behind him and sure enough, there was the Kingsguard and a company of knights riding down on him. Jon needed to flee fast if he was going to lose them. He turned his horse and came to a sudden stop as an old man appeared in front of him grabbing at his reigns.

“Oh, please Ser for the love of- the painting! That man there,” he pointed to a wildling running up a hill, “he’s getting away!” Jon tried to rest his reigns away from the old man, but he was stronger than he looked. 

“The guard will help you I cannot!” Jon insisted as nervously looked behind him to see the fast approaching riders.

“Please! Ser!” the man begged, “It is, my life.” He said simply. Jon felt himself being torn in two, if he helped the man he would surely be caught but if he left there was no chance for this man to get his painting back. Jon knew instantly what he would do. Jon closed his eyes for a split second, resigned to his fate.

Giving an angry yell Jon spurned the horse on to gallop after the wildling with the painting. As he reached the crest of the hill he saw that the other man had gotten on a horse of his own, had altered direction and was coming right for him. Muttering under his breath Jon managed to move his horse out of the path of the other man just in time. He was an arm’s length away so as the man passed him he reached out with the metal tube and let it smack Jon in the head. It made a ringing sound as it connected with his face and Jon felt the pain in his head compounding to a roar. Jon cursed at the man as he let his stallion give chase. Now the wildling had a good lead and Jon followed him through the forest for what seemed like forever, avoiding fallen trees, boulders, brambles, and holes that could cripple the horse. The last thing he wanted was for that servant woman to come after him again with more apples.

The countryside was a colorful blur during this wild chase through the trees. Jon could just make out the glimmer of sunlight off the brass tube hanging from the Wildling’s back. Jon had never been so determined to get anything in his life. He leaned so low on the stallion he was practically hugging it, hoping it had the strength and stamina to continue.

Eventually, they broke free of the trees and only then did Jon realize that during this chase they had climbed up the side of a mountain and both horses were speeding for a narrow road at the very edge of the mountain. Above them lay ruins of a castle and below them off the side of a cliff, a lake, still and blue. Jon was gaining on the other man now, was almost on him, close enough to reach out- Jon cursed himself for what he was about to do, and then he hurled himself onto the back of the other horse, grabbing for the brass case. Jon’s sudden appearance on his back startled the horse so badly he reared, knocking both men off at once.

Jon and the wildling flew to the ground and rolled away from each other. The wildling was faster to his feet and took another swing at Jon with the brass canister. Jon was prepared this time and ducked tackling the man to the ground. The men struggled for a bit, getting closer and closer to the edge of the overhang until they both lost their footing and went tumbling down with a cascade of leaves. Jon saw nothing but sky as he fell and berated himself for ever coming after this painting. He landed in the frigid water with a great splash and came up spluttering, he couldn’t catch his breath. Golden leaves landed all around him catching the sun on their way down. It was so beautiful it made him angry. He was angry before, but this only made it worse. The case came bobbing up next to him and the Wildling came up a good distance away. The man gave Jon an angry look and swam in the opposite direction.

Jon muttered curses under his breath as his teeth chattered and he swam to the edge of the lake. Now freezing, soaked, and probably concussed, he had to make his way back down the mountain to return the painting to the old man, thereby returning himself to his perfectly arranged prison of a marriage. He knew it would be one of the hardest walks he ever made. He took the first step.

˜

“No, it’s too small,” Cersei put down the gold and pearl brooch she was holding and frowned at the merchant in front of her.

“My Lady, I fear anything larger may make her fall over,” the gold merchant ventured, laughing.

“Well, then I suppose we’ll just have to look elsewhere,” Cersei raised her eyebrows at the man, daring him to turn away her business even as she turned to go. The man hesitated only a moment before relenting.

“I, I have just the right thing,” he said, reaching out to stop her from leaving.

Theon leaned out the window of his studio and looked down at Cersei and Myrcella in the alleyway below, he couldn’t stand them for Sansa’s sake and he wouldn’t stand them for his own. He glanced to the opposite end of the ally where Arya stood, stick in hand, practicing her fencing. Theon liked Arya, for all they ignored each other mostly. He sighed and brought his attention back to Sansa, who was currently rummaging around his small apartment.

“Have you lost your marbles?!” he demanded striding across the room to stand before his closest friend. “Do you know what the punishment is for servants who dress above their station? Five days in the stocks!” he answered his own question, holding up five fingers to emphasize his point.

“You’d do the same for me, admit it,” Sansa said, poking him in the chest and smirking knowingly. Theon’s eyes went wide, and he gaped at her.

“Me? Pretend to be some lordling? Prancing around like a nobleman. Why I’ve never even been to Court,” he pointed his finger at her “and neither have you,” Theon raised his hands in desperation and pulled away from Sansa. She was the closest thing to family he had left. Theon’s parents had died when he was very young, and Ned Stark had taken him as a ward. When Ned died Cersei had kicked him out and he was on the street. Luckily, he was able to get on as an apprentice to an artist. Now he was the only portrait painter in the city.

“Then I won’t be recognized. Now hand me that gown so I can be on my way,” Sansa called from behind the changing screen. Theon sighed but took the gown off the hanger and handed it to her. He couldn’t believe he was participating in this charade. The gown belonged to one of his patrons who had allowed him to keep it, so he could get the fine details of the fabric. Theon started mixing some paint.

“They’ll never buy it. You are too sweet,” Theon said, he emphasized the last word as if it were a bad thing as if Sansa could give him a toothache. As much as Theon loved Sansa she was too kind.

“They’ll never buy a servant with twenty gold dragons either, I am Jory’s only hope.” Sansa pulled the dress over her head and went to work on its’ many laces and clasps. It seemed to fit perfectly. The dress was a deep violet that shifted to gold when Sansa moved. Tiny stars made of tiny seed pearls climbed the skirt. The sleeves were tight, with small gold puffs of fabric at the elbows. Sansa hadn’t worn something so nice in a very long time.

“And Lady Cersei? What’d you tell her?” asked Theon.

“That I am picking wildflowers. Theon can you still see her?” Sansa asked as she adjusted the dress. Theon made a cursory glance out the window where nothing had changed.

“They're buying a brooch,” Theon muttered, adding some powder to one of his jars of paint. He heard Sansa sigh from behind the changing screen.

“Unbelievable, she ignores the manor, blames us for her debt, and still pretends to have money to burn,” it enraged Sansa how her stepmother behaved as if nothing was her responsibility. Sansa finally managed the last clasp of the dress and took a deep breath. “Now don’t you dare laugh, I’m coming out,” she called from behind the screen. Sansa tentatively stepped out and met Theon’s eyes.

Theon inhaled at the sight of Sansa, he had never seen anything so lovely. Soot smudged her face, but the dress made her look like a queen.

Sansa set her face to the ground. “The shoes are too big,” she muttered to her feet and her worn brown slippers.

“Nobody will be looking at your feet,” Theon said. He was still staring at her face, trying to paint her in his mind. The dress reflected the light, so it caught in her hair and set it aflame.

“Yards of fabric and I still feel naked,” Sansa fiddled with her sleeves nervously. She started to question her plan and a million doubts were going through her mind at once.

“If you’re going to be a lady you must play the part,” Theon said. He walked over to her and lifted her chin with his finger. “You look down to no one,” he murmured, forcing her to meet his eyes.

“I am just a servant in a nice dress,” Sansa said giving him a pained smile. She bit back tears. Sansa had always dreamed about being a lady like her mother, and this was her only chance to experience that.

“Come, we have to do something with that hair,” Theon raised his eyebrows at her, grabbed her hand and pulled her from the small room. Sansa laughed and followed after him. Her worries only somewhat lessened.

˜

The old man came running up to Jon as he rode slowly up to the caravan, two guards trailing behind him. The wildlings were gone, and the guards were helping reload the wagons. The scene was calm. Jon had a sense of dread growing in his stomach. It had been a long ride back.

“Oh, thank you,” cried the old man, reaching out and taking the brass container from the prince’s hands. As he did Jon noticed the man wasn’t that old. Even though his hair and beard were silver, he seemed to be only slightly older than Jon’s own father. The second thing Jon noticed was that the man was missing the first joints on all the fingers of his left hand. One of the knights came riding up to Jon and gave him an exasperated look. Jon knew this knight, he was his closest friend. Gendry.

“Jon, you promised,” Gendry said reproachfully, holding out a hand.  
“I know,” Jon said, voice flat, “I lied,” he leveled a stony gaze at Gendry. “I thought I’d see the world before I gave up my life to king and country,” Jon said.

“Then why on earth did you stop?” the old man ventured. He was standing between the two men and was curious about the whole situation. Jon directed his attention to the old man and tried to keep his horse calm as it pawed at the ground.

“I suppose it’s because I lack conviction, you seem to have it in spades. Besides, you claimed it was a matter of life and death,” Jon stilled his horse and looked at the old man bitterly, he didn’t believe a painting could be so important.

“A woman always is, sire,” The man uncapped the brass tube and pulled out a rolled-up canvas, which he proceeded to unroll and turned to show Jon the painting he had risked his life for. The painting was of a woman, who had a smirk on her lips and a flash in her eye, that could be genuine or mocking, and Jon didn’t know which he preferred, but the painting made him uncomfortable the longer he stared at the woman’s eyes.

“She laughs at me Ser as if she knows something I do not,” Jon said, annoyed.

“The lady had many secrets, I merely painted one of them,” the man said rerolling the painting and gently placing it back in its’ tube. Gendry studied Jon and smirked at his friend.

“Ser Seaworth has been invited to the palace as the artist in residence,” Gendry said. Jon’s eyes went wide, and he gawked at Gendry, and then at the man in front of him.

“Davos Seaworth?” Jon asked in awe, slipping off his horse to stand before the man.

“I’m just a second choice,” Davos said, humility in his tone. “I do the best I can with what I have,” he held up his hand to show his missing fingertips. Jon couldn’t believe his fortune.

“Why here I am on my way to anywhere and I find my deliverance on the highway,” Jon glanced up to grin at Gendry who paid him no mind. “Ser,” Jon grabbed the other man by the shoulders, startling him, “you are the very founder of forward thinking and my father is the king of backward. Perhaps you can talk him into the present era,” Jon paused as if waiting for a response.

“Captain Waters, do translate,” Davos looked to the knight confusion painting his face.

“Uh, Prince Jon suffers from an arranged marriage, Ser. . . among other things,” Gendry said, his guileless gaze going from Jon to Davos. Jon glared at him. Pity and understanding filled the look Davos fixed on Jon.

˜

The party came riding up to the manor house and Jon filled with shame and embarrassment. It was only this morning he had taken the horse and now here he was returning it in his fruitless escape attempt. Gendry had not let Jon out of his sight the whole ride back. Jon felt like a prisoner, and he knew in many ways he was. At last, they reached the old manor. The large front door opened and a lady in a black and crimson dress stepped out to greet them. Her golden hair was twisted into elaborate southern style braids shot through with black ribbon.

“Ah, Your Grace, what a lovely surprise, to what do we owe this great honor?” the woman asked as she dipped into a low curtsy. Jon didn’t remember meeting her before but there were so many lords and ladies in the provinces surrounding the capital he could never keep track of them all.

“I am returning your horse, my lady,” Jon said, abashed. He smiled, and it was more of a grimace.

“Oh, was it missing?” she asked, rising from her curtsy, confusion evident on her face.

“Yes, I took the liberty of borrowing it this morning. I’m afraid I might have scared the wits out of one of your servants, a lady with quite a good arm actually,” Jon placed a hand on his still throbbing head. The woman's’ eyes widened, and her expression seemed to harden slightly.

“She is mute, my lord,” she said definitively.

“Really?” Jon raised his eyebrows. “She spoke quite forcefully,” he wasn’t sure why the lady would lie to him, perhaps she was thinking of a different servant.

“Well, it comes and goes,” She made a small dismissive gesture with her hand. “But as always, Your Grace is welcome to anything he wishes, anything at all,” as if on cue two girls came stumbling out the half-open door. “Oh, ladies, here you are,” the woman said, tensely.

“Your Grace,” both girls curtsied. One perfect, the other much more extravagant than necessary. Jon glanced to Gendry and they had a silent conversation with their eyes.

“Your Grace may I present Myrcella of house Lannister,” she gestured to the blonde girl who hadn’t stopped staring at him. “And Arya,” she gestured at the dark-haired girl who had made the extravagant curtsy. Jon felt as if she was making fun of him, or maybe her sister.

“You may, ladies forgive me, you seem to have blossomed overnight,” Jon vaguely remembered meeting them once several years ago. He knew the name Lannister and tried to place the woman before him. Her name still escaped him.

“We’re so looking forward to celebrating your engagement to your own yellow rose,” she took several steps closer to him and Jon felt more trapped than before.

“Yes well,” Jon felt himself deflate as he looked to Gendry for some show of support “there have been several new developments with regards to the Tyrells,” Gendry didn’t pay him any mind, he was too busy staring at the two sisters who edged closer as he talked. Jon, knowing he would get no support from his friend and desperately wanting to change the subject grasped to find anything else to talk about. His mother had taught him that a compliment could go a long way in easing out of awkward conversations, “I must say Myrcella, that brooch is stunning,” the brooch was a heavy gold lion that seemed to pull the front of her dress down exposing some cleavage. As soon as the words passed his lips Jon thought that may have been the wrong thing to call attention to.

“This old thing, why you’re too kind,” Myrcella brushed the edge of the brooch and spoke in a low intimate voice that set Jon a little on edge. Jon noticed Arya roll her eyes almost imperceptibly, take a feather that was in her hair and stick it down the front of her dress. Gendry laughed behind him and Arya glanced up at him and gave a little smile.

“These developments I trust are for the best?” their mother said as she started petting his horse. Jon’s mind raced to every horrible outcome he had thought up on the ride down and he didn’t see how any of the new developments could be for the best.

“Let us hope so,” was the reply he made. “Good day ladies,” Jon badly wanted to leave the conversation and the house at once. His head was pounding, and he thought he might have a concussion. He still had to face his parents and he was still wet from falling into that damned lake because of going after that damned painting.

As the party left the manor house to continue their journey back to imprisonment that Jon called home he felt in his heart that his last chance for any kind of freedom had slipped away from his fingers before he could even reach for it.


	4. Slowly As They Wither I Reap The Seeds I Sow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title from Sorry Seinabo Sey

Sansa ran down the streets of King’s Landing, climbing from Flea Bottom to the Red Keep. She had only been to the capital a few times, and she had always hated it. Too many people. Not enough air. King’s Landing was not like she had imagined it when she was a girl and her father would tell her stories about his travels. Having yet another disillusioned dream pained her heart. So, she didn’t go to the capital if she could help it. Today she couldn’t help it. Jory’s life and Shae’s happiness were on the line. As Sansa turned a corner the Red Keep came into view and she marveled at the terrible beauty of it. It was red as blood in the afternoon light. Fire and Blood. The towers and turrets seemed to scrape the sky, making it bleed sunset. Sansa felt as if she was walking into the mouth of a dragon as she came up to the main gate. Crowds of smallfolk and were milling about. Sansa knew she would never be allowed in on a normal day. Chin up, you look down to no one. She reminded herself of Theon’s words as she forced herself to stop running and started moving calmly and self-assuredly to the gate. Ladies don’t run. They glide, or float, or fly, but they don’t run.

“Make way for the lady,” a guard called to the people around her as Sansa approached. The guards uncrossed the spears they held and let Sansa pass by them through the large iron gate and the thick red outer walls. After she did they immediately resumed their position to bar entry to the castle. Sansa felt a small rush of relief at having made it this far, and a greater rush of panic. Now she was inside the dragon’s mouth. Surrounded by nobles, guards, and servants. Dragon’s teeth. Sansa didn’t know where to find him, but she knew she had to appear as if she belonged. She started strolling around the outer courtyard. After a few minutes, Sansa caught sight of Jory and stopped dead in her tracks. He was on one of the lower levels being loaded into a cage on a cart.

“Mother, give me strength,” she prayed as she stood, clinging to a column for support. Sansa straightened her dress. She touched her hair, caught up in a net of pearls, making sure it stayed in place. She had to play the part. Sansa ran down the stairs to the place where the prisoners were being moved. She knew people were starting to stare at her. Ladies don’t run. Nothing for it now. She had to be quick. As she reached the cart she held out a hand to stop it from moving. “I wish to address the issue of this gentleman,” Sansa pointed to Jory. His appearance was haggard and dirty, hair long and unkempt, greying slightly. Sansa had to swallow tears that were building in her throat. “He is my servant and I wish to pay the debt against him,” She said in the most imperious voice she could muster. The cart master, a rough looking man with a mean face eyed her and seemed to see right through her.

“You’re too late, he’s bought and paid for,” said the man blandly. Sansa was used to treatment like this from people when she was dressed as a servant, but now she was a lady and this man didn’t seem to care.

“I can pay you twenty gold dragons,” she held out the purse, heart beating fast, palms sweating. The man raised his eyebrows at her and spoke slowly as if she couldn’t understand him.

“Milady you could have me for twenty gold dragons. Now drive on!” this last part he directed at the cart driver leading the horses. Sansa reached out and grabbed the horses’ bridle before they could make two steps, stilling the cart again. She wasn’t sure what she was going to do next, so she spoke the first thing that came to mind.

“I demand you release him at once, or I shall take this matter to the king,” as soon as the words left her mouth she wished she could take them back. Threats only worked if you could deliver on them. She could not.

“The king’s the one who sold him, he’s now the property of the Night’s Watch,” the man was getting angrier and angrier as the exchange kept going. Sansa felt her own temper rising in response.

“He is not property at all, you ill-mannered tub of guts! Do you honestly think it right to chain people like chattel?” Jory was her father’s steward and friend, he had been like a second father to her. “I demand you release him at once!” Sansa saw red and knew she wasn’t thinking clearly. She would rip that damned cage apart before she let this man take away a member of her family.

“GET OUT OF MY WAY!” the man screamed at her.

“You dare raise your voice to a lady ser?” asked a deep calm voice behind her. Sansa hadn’t heard the horses approaching. She froze. Her blood ran cold, and her anger died in an instant. The prince was here. Every warning Theon had given her echoed through her head. Five days in the stocks. Five days. Sansa winced and closed her eyes before slowly spun round to face the prince, heart pounding in her chest. Daring to lift her head and meet the prince’s gaze as she gave a small curtsy. There was an expression on his face she couldn’t quite name. She only hoped he wouldn’t recognize her. Sansa quickly focused on the ground. She could still feel his dark eyes on her and it made her want to disappear. Maybe her chances would be better if she didn’t speak.

“Your grace, uh, forgive me, sire, I meant no disrespect, it’s just that, I’m following orders here. It’s my job to take these criminals and thieves to the Wall,” the cart master addressed the prince with an air of humility and superiority. Asking for forgiveness for being rude to her and then acting as if her fault for interrupting his job. Detestable.

“A servant is not a thief Your Grace, and those who are cannot help themselves,” Sansa couldn’t hold her tongue any longer, so much for not speaking. She had to free Jory, no matter the cost. The prince appeared surprised that she would continue to argue the point.

“Really?” the prince glanced to the guard next to him “Well then, by all means, enlighten us,” It was a command, not a request. The prince tilted his head to her, then eyed the crowd that had slowly but surely gathered around them. Sansa’s mouth went dry, and every thought seemed to leave her head. But, she knew this by heart, so she let her memory take over as she started speaking automatically.

“If you suffer your people to be ill-educated and their manners corrupted from infancy, and then punish them for those crimes to which their first education disposed of them, what else is to be concluded sire but that you first make thieves and then punish them,” as she talked she stepped closer to the prince, maintaining eye contact. She needed him to understand. She needed him to agree with her. She needed him to free Jory. When she finished she took a deep breath and heard a murmur from the crowd around them.

“Well, there you have it. Release him,” the prince commanded the other man, never taking his eyes off Sansa’s.

“But sire,” the man protested weakly.

“I said release him,” the prince cut him off in a tone that brokered no argument. Sansa dared to smile, she could hardly believe it.

“Yes sire,” the man relented and made to open the cage. “Come on then,” he beckoned Jory out. Sansa went to Jory, handed the cart master the bag of coins and took Jory’s arm to steady him.

“I thought I was looking at your mother,” he whispered to her. Sansa had to bite her lip to keep from crying.

“Meet me at the bridge,” she whispered back. Louder for other people to hear, “prepare the horses we shall leave at once!” Jory nodded to her and squeezed her hand before taking his leave. He limped and stumbled slightly from being imprisoned so long. Sansa strode back to the prince and curtsied again. “I thank you, Your Grace,” now she just had to make her exit. Sansa started back up the stairs to the main courtyard and to her alarm the prince dismounted his horse and followed her. Sansa quickened her pace slightly, tattered slippers scraping the ground.

“Have we met?” the prince asked, he was only a step behind her.

“I do not believe so Your Grace,” she mumbled, trying to sidestep away from him.

“I could have sworn I knew every lady in the city,” he matched her pace and movement.

“Well, I’m visiting a cousin,” more lies, Sansa thought.

“Who?” the prince asked, direct and curious.

“My cousin,” Sansa repeated. She didn’t dare to look at him. She needed to learn how to lie better. Theon was right, they would never believe she was a lady.

“Yes, you said that which one?” his tone was playful. Sansa couldn’t leave this conversation soon enough.

“Well, the only one I have sire,” she stopped to face him. He was right in front of her now and she could tell she was only a fraction taller than him.

“Are you coy on purpose or do you honestly refuse to tell me your name?” he asked lip quirking up in a half smile.

“No,” she stammered, “and yes,” she spun around and tried to leave again. He quickened his pace until he was in front of her and twisted on his heel, so he had to walk backwards facing her.

“Then pray, tell me your cousin’s name so that I might call upon her to learn who you are, for anyone who can quote Septon More is well worth the effort,” he stopped in front of her and she had to stop as well before she ran into him.

“The Prince has read Utopia?” Sansa asked, astounded. He nodded.

“I found it sentimental and dull, I confess the plight of the everyday rustic bores me,” he said conversationally. Sansa’s heart fell, and she berated herself for ever thinking a prince could understand Utopia or how much she longed for it.

“I gather you do not converse with many peasants,” she ventured.

“Certainly not, no. Naturally,” Sansa felt her temper rising again.

“Excuse me sire, but there is nothing natural about it,” she retorted, “a country’s character is defined by its ‘everyday rustics’ as you call them, they are the legs you stand on and that position demands respect, not-”

“Am I to understand that you find me arrogant?” he interrupted, fascination apparent on his face. Sansa leveled him with a long gaze that spoke more than her words could. Yes, she found him arrogant.

“Well, you gave one man back his life but did you even glance at the others?” he didn’t have a response and she tried to slip away again.

“Please, I beg of you, a name, any name,” he implored. Sansa knew he could have commanded her to tell him her name, but he didn’t, he begged for it. The thought made tiny shivers go down her spine. She had to tell him something.

“I fear that the only name to leave you with is lady Catelyn Tully,” this lie more than the others felt bitter on her tongue. A name he couldn’t know and couldn’t trace. Now she could go back home and never have to see him again.

“There now, that wasn’t so hard,” he gloated over her with a grin that made butterflies stir her stomach. Traitor, Sansa thought to her stomach. But she found herself smirking for a moment.

“Oh, Jon you’re back,” a woman called from across the courtyard. Sansa saw a woman walking towards them from the gardens. She was finely dressed in gray silk and a tiny circlet adorned her graying hair.

“Hello, mother,” Jon called. Sansa felt a chill go to her bones. She didn’t think she could fool the queen, so as the prince addressed his mother Sansa slipped away. And made it to the front gate. As she stepped through a sense of relief washed over her. Sansa felt her whole body which had been taught from stress loosen slightly, and she laughed to herself as she disappeared into the crowd. It worked Jory was free. Now she could go home.

˜

Jon looked to his mother, surrounded by her ladies in waiting. Obviously, his running away had not interfered in her life at all.

“The King would like a word with you, several in fact,” she said, voice matter of fact. They had been through this before. Jon knew what was coming. Better to get the lecture over with. He had had several today and the sun was still setting, illuminating the castle so it gave the impression of being on fire. Fire and Blood. Jon sighed.

“He usually does, I shall be right in,” His mother smiled, and Jon tried to smile back, but he only managed a grimace. Jon turned to speak to Catelyn, but she was gone. Confused he searched for her purple dress and red hair briefly but didn’t see her in the crowds. Disappointed started for the Red Keep. His home. To face his father. The king. So much for freedom.

˜

Sansa and Jory came in sight of the house. They were making their way through a field of wildflowers. The sun had set by the time they made it home and the stars and moon turned the world to silver highlights and indigo shadows around them. Sansa suspected she was actually floating home, her spirit was so light. She had to peek down to make sure her feet were still on the ground. Jory was free, and she was back in her normal faded blue dress. They held hands as they walked, and it made Sansa feel like a small child again. Jory was not too much worse for wear from being imprisoned. Thinking about it made Sansa ill. She wasn’t sure if she could ever forgive Cersei for this. These thoughts worried Sansa as she picked flowers. When they got to the kitchen door Jory smiled at her.

“Thank you” he whispered pulling her in for a hug. Sansa’s throat tightened as tears gathered there.

“You go ahead, I need a moment,” she heard Shae’s cries of delight. As she stepped through the doorway Sansa saw Jory wrap Shae in his arms and cry into her shoulder.

“You’re back, you came back!” Shae touched Jory’s face, tears running down her own. He took her hand and pressed the palm against his lips.

“And I’m never leaving again,” he kissed her, and Sansa turned her face away, not wanting to intrude.

Old Nan came up to Sansa and hugged her.

“You did good dear,” Nan patted her on the back.

“Thanks, Nan, I hope it’s enough,” Sansa hugged her tightly.

˜

Every step felt like wading through a river that was getting deeper and deeper and he was one step away from drowning. When they reached the throne room his father barely seemed to notice him in favor of the papers he was reading.

“You Ser are restricted to the grounds!” the small council members that were present bowed to the prince and made a hasty exit.

“Are you putting me under house arrest?” Jon let the sarcasm and incredulity drip from his voice. The king scowled at him and rose from the Iron Throne. Rhaegar walked up to him and studied Jon.

“Do not mock me, boy, for I am in a foul disposition, and I will have my way-” 

“Or what?” Jon interrupted, “You’ll ship me to the Wall like some criminal? All for the sake of your stupid contract,” Rhaegar’s face was turning red and Jon knew he should hold his peace, but he was too angry.

“You are the crown prince of the Seven Kingdoms! the Prince of Dragonstone!” Rhaegar took hold of Jon’s shoulders and Jon could feel his father’s frustration.

“And it is my life!” he responded, shoving his father’s hands away.

“Rhaegar, calm down before you have a stroke,” Lyanna came between them, “really the two of you. . .” she put a hand on Jon’s head and started stroking his hair, “sweetheart, you were born to privilege and with that comes specific obligations,” she was gentle, but tired. They had had this discussion a hundred times. Jon felt his jaw clench.

“Forgive me mother but your hypocrisy is startling, you two married for love,” Lyanna sighed and exchanged glances with Rhaegar. Jon knew that face, it said, ‘it’s your turn, I tried.’ Rhaegar squared his shoulders.

“You will marry Margery by the next full moon or I will strike at you in any way I can.” There was a finality in his voice and Jon could feel the water rising around him.

“What’s it to be father, hot oil or the rack?” Jon asked casually, he couldn’t help himself. Rhaegar turned red again and he blustered for a moment.

“I will simply deny you the crown and live forever!” Jon knew this was the only threat his father considered worth making, the only threat Jon wished his father could make good on.

“Good. Agreed. I don’t want it!” Jon strode out of the throne room, footsteps echoing through the chamber.

“He’s your son,” Rhaegar said defeatedly to his wife. Lyanna brought a hand to her head and bemoaned her obtuse son and husband.

˜

When Sansa went upstairs her good mood vanished as quickly as it had come. Myrcella’s sing-song voice greeted her.

“Somebody’s in trouble,” Myrcella didn’t even glance up from her sewing.

“What do you mean?” Sansa heard Cersei coming up behind her and only managed to twist around slightly before Cersei had her by the ear and shoved her back into a chair. Sansa gasped, her ear burned, and she dropped the flowers she was holding.

“You stupid, stupid girl! how dare you do this to me! To Myrcella! Why the whole thing makes me sick! It’s deceitfulness Sansa and I will not have it in this house!” Cersei was yelling at her

“What did I do?” Sansa wasn’t sure how much to give away, if Cersei had figured out what she had done to buy Jory back she didn’t know what would happen to her, five days in the stocks echoed through her head as it had all day.

“Think Sansa, think really hard,” Myrcella spoke as if she was speaking to a child, slow and condescending. Sansa glanced from Myrcella to Arya, who was making galloping motions with her hands and mouthing ‘the horse’ to her.

“Prince Jon stole our horse this morning?” Sansa said quietly as if her answer could change the question. She felt a bit of relief. At least Cersei hadn’t figured out about the rest of the day.

“Yes, and that would explain why he returned it this afternoon, how dare you let him surprise us like that,” Cersei was angry, and Sansa could smell the wine on her breath.

“I’m sorry,” Sansa shook her head, closing her eyes. Cersei wasn’t paying her any mind.

“Luckily for you, Myrcella turned in a beautiful performance, she and the prince had quite an interlude,” smugness radiated off Cersei in waves as she began to pace the room

“Yes, I shouldn’t be surprised if he drops by again,” Myrcella ran her fingers through her hair and Arya rolled her eyes. Sansa could tell she was close to letting out a burning remark but managed to hold her tongue.

“Come, come,” Cersei clapped her hands in front of Sansa’s face. “I must know exactly what was said, the simplest phrase can have a thousand meanings, he said you were forceful, what did you say?” Sansa swallowed. She looked to Arya who shook her head slightly, eyes pleading. Sansa knew she had to tell the truth. Not all the truth, but some of it.

“I, I called him a thief, my lady,” Sansa saw the disbelief on Cersei’s face and felt the need to justify her actions “I did not recognize him!” Cersei laughed. It was a cold laugh.

“Oh, Sansa, you poor little country girl, well we must work extra hard to make sure the manor is spotless, we cannot have a royal bottom sitting on a dirty chaise, now, can we?” Sansa shook her head. Embarrassment and shame were clawing at her insides. As soon as she was alone she could cry. Myrcella’s voice again broke Sansa out of her thoughts.

“What is he doing here?” Sansa saw Jory and Shae standing in the doorway. They hesitated.

“I have worked off your-” Jory started to say but a sharp tilt of Cersei’s head shifted his words “my debts milady,” he gave a slight bow, “they told me I could go home,” everyone waited for a moment to hear Cersei’s reaction. And goosebumps rose on Sansa’s arms. Cersei made a dismissive gesture with her hand.

“Fine,” a pause “go catch a chicken,” Cersei brushed him off. Sansa slipped out of the room. Arya followed her.

˜

“Who dear?” Lyanna asked. They were strolling through the gardens. Multicolored lanterns making light dance and play across their faces.

“Lady Catelyn Tully, she’s a cousin of, well actually I don’t know who her cousin is, surely you have heard of her,” Jon had been through so much trouble to even find out her name, and he didn’t know anything else about her. The queen hummed to herself. 

“Darling there are simply too many lords and ladies to remember them all by name. Why do you ask?” Jon saw curiosity and the hint of a smile on his mother’s face.

“Hmm? Oh, never mind,” Jon didn’t want his mother to think he had some kind of infatuation with this girl. But, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. Her mind, she was obviously well read, smart and kind. Her appearance, her violet dress at war with her red hair. The way she challenged him. Everyone around him always agreed with him, except his parents. Jon was still thinking of her as they turned a corner and Jon saw his father striding towards them. Rhaegar’s silver hair was practically glowing in the lantern light.

“In honor of Ser Davos, I have decided to throw a ball, a masked ball, at which point you,” -he pointed to Jon- “and I will strike a compromise,” The King stopped in front of them and waited for a response. Jon was struck dumb for an instant before finding his voice.

“Compromise, you?” Jon felt as if the world was spinning around him. Rhaegar raised an eyebrow at his son.

“If love is what you seek, I suggest you find it before then. For five days hence at the stroke of midnight, you will announce your engagement to the girl of your choice or I will announce it for you. Are we agreed?” his father spoke as if they were already agreed.

“What of your treaty?” Jon asked skeptically.

“Let me worry about Mace Tyrell. You’ve got bigger problems,” Rhaegar stared at Lyanna, a question in his eyes. She smiled at him.

“Choose wisely Jon,” his mother winked at him before taking Rhaegar’s hand and leaving Jon alone with his thoughts.

Five days to find love. That was his sentence. Five days.


	5. And I Was Dancing In The Rain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so so sorry this has taken so long to update! these past few months I have had a lot of weird health problems, been in a car accident, and started a second job so I have been lacking time and energy to write. 
> 
> Also, I've been fighting really hard with feelings of insecurity and self-doubt. Nevertheless here we are!
> 
> Hopefully, it won't take me so long to get the next chapter out. Again I'm so sorry!
> 
> Chapter title from Runaway by AURORA

Cersei held the scroll in her hand, eyes lighting up as she broke the royal seal of the three-headed dragon and unrolled the small piece of parchment.

To Lady Cersei Stark, and the ladies of the house. You are cordially invited to The Red Keep for a Masque in honor of Ser Davos Seaworth five days hence.  
\- Rhaegar Targaryen, First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm.

“What news of the engagement?” Cersei asked the page standing in her doorway, waiting for a response. The page was a young man dressed in black livery emblazoned with a red three-headed dragon. Cersei had had several interactions with this page and he possessed a trusting nature Cersei could use to her advantage. It also helped that he would accept a little compensation in exchange for information. The young man glanced around before leaning closer.

“Canceled. Rumor has it he must find a bride before that very night,” the page said conspiratorially. Cersei reached out and took one of his hands in her own, turning it palm up.

“Well that doesn’t give us very much time,” she then brought a small bag of coins out of her pocket. “I shall need to know, who the competition is,” she placed a coin in his hand, “every move he makes,” another coin, “his agenda,” a third, “and any other tidbits you might pick up,” she dropped a small handful of coins and gave him a wink. His grip tightened on the coins and he looked at her thoughtfully.

“He’s playing tennis, tomorrow at noon,” the page said, all in one breath.

“Skin of such elegance,” Cersei brushed her hand lightly over his cheek and then down to his chest “concealing such ruthlessness,” she grabbed the fabric of his uniform and pulled him closer. “I’ve grown rather fond of our intrigues together. Surely you must know that,” she said in a breathy whisper.

“I’m having an inkling my lady,” his green eyes went wide, and his voice cracked slightly.

“When my daughter is queen, perhaps we might come to a new arrangement,” Cersei let her eyes wander up and down his body before she released her grip on his shirt. He blinked at her and turned to go with a dazed expression on his face. Cersei smirked to herself as she closed the door.

˜

Sansa could taste the honey in the air. Collecting the honeycomb was one of her favorite tasks. Putting the bees to sleep with the smoke so they flew in little drunk circles made her laugh. It was a two-person job and Nan had agreed to help her today with the express purpose it seemed to Sansa to question her about yesterday’s “adventures”.

“I’d have given anything to see you all dressed up like a noblewoman, speaking to the prince like a lady,” Nan’s voice was wistful, and Sansa could hear the smile in it.

“Scolding him is more like it. And I cannot believe I gave him my mother’s name, the man is insufferable,” Sansa moved another piece of honeycomb trying not to think of the nerve-racking day and all her embarrassing encounters with the prince. She was glad of the veils that protected them from the bees, so she didn’t have to meet Nans' eyes.

“Yes, you’ve been saying that . . . all day,” Nan said dryly. Sansa could sense judgment in the old woman’s voice and felt the need to justify herself.

“Well, it’s as true now as it was this morning,” Sansa protested. snob was a mild assessment in Sansa’s opinion elitist snob was better. Sansa tried to shake the picture of his dark unruly hair and grey eyes from her mind. As they finished with the hives Sansa pulled her gloves off and took the bowl of honeycomb from Nan.

“Ohhh, darling he’s royalty. They’re born like that,” Nan said soothingly. Sansa lifted her veil and started back to the house.

“Well, then I suppose the penalty for being wealthy is that you have to live with the rich,” Sansa gave a small huff of frustration.

“I’ll bet he’s quite charming once you get to know him,” Nan sounded a little too admiring for Sansa’s liking. Because he had been charming, and enigmatic. She saw in her mind’s eye his smile. She frowned and tried to banish the image.

“Honestly, I think he and Myrcella deserve each other,” Sansa said, trying to convince herself of the thought and knowing it was a lie even as she was saying it.

“Oh! Bite your tongue! The only throne I want her sitting on is the one I have to clean every day,” Nan scolded. Sansa glanced at Nan and saw annoyance on her face. Sansa burst out laughing and Nan swatted her on the arm before joining in her laughter.

˜

“What’s wrong with this one?” Cersei asked Myrcella who had put down another dress she had been considering for the Masque.

“It’s blue,” Myrcella said, disdainfully. She didn’t give the dress a second glance.

“Well Jon loves blue,” Cersei said. Examining the dress for a fault and finding none.

“Fifty other girls will be wearing the exact same color,” Myrcella protested in a whine.

“Very good Myrcella,” Cersei held up a finger and nodded to her daughter. Arya appeared in the doorway in a green dress with a pattern of black diamonds.

“Well this one is too small,” Arya said as she stepped into the room struggling to move. She was trying and failing to reach behind her to undo the clasps holding her in the dress that was restricting the movement of her upper body. She could barely lift her arms; the sleeves were so tight.

“We will just have to get you a tighter corset,” her mother said, dismissive.

“I cannot breathe as it is!” Arya gasped and lowered her struggling arms to her side. She wouldn’t be able to do anything in this dress, not climbing, or riding, or fencing. Her mother had been trying to break her of these habits since she developed them. To Cersei’s chagrin, Arya always found ways to sneak off with Sansa for a few hours every day or every other and they would practice at least one of her preferred activities. Even though Sansa didn’t enjoy fencing she had taught Arya everything she had learned.

The thought brought Arya back to being seven again.

Having run away from dance lessons she found Sansa out in the orchard swinging a stick around. Arya stood and watched her. Sansa was so graceful and moved so fluidly. It was as if she was dancing herself, with an invisible partner, but the dance was dangerous.

“What are you doing?” Arya asked, breaking the silence. Sansa jumped and turned to face her stepsister.

“Arya! Don’t sneak up on me! You’re too quiet.” Sansa chastised as she dropped the stick into a small pile of twigs at her feet.

“Sorry,” Arya said, abashed. “But what were you doing?” she moved closer.

“Nothing, just practicing swordplay,” Sansa muttered to the pile of sticks she was supposed to be collecting for kindling. Arya felt excitement begin to gather in her stomach.

“Swordplay? Will you teach me?” Arya asked eagerly, her eyes lighting up as she bounced on the balls of her feet closer to the older girl.

“What? No!” Sansa stammered, “I mean. . . your mother wouldn’t like it. The man who taught me was one of the first people she dismissed after. . .” Sansa bit her lip to keep from crying. Her father had been dead eight months now. Arya could tell it still hurt her to talk about him.

“She doesn’t need to know,” Arya whispered as she walked over to Sansa and picked up a stick of her own. “Please Sansa. Please?” Arya gave her the biggest pleading eyes she could muster. Sansa sighed, and Arya could tell she was already giving in to her best pouting face. Arya could get almost anything with that face.

“Why do you want me to teach you this?” Sansa crossed her arms.

“I just want to have something I can be good at,” Arya pursed her mouth into a frown to show her resolve and was startled when Sansa started giggling. “It’s not funny!” Arya said, “Everybody else is good at things! You’re good at reading and sewing. Myrcella is good at dancing and playing music. Even Theon is learning how to paint! I want something I’m good at!” Sansa stopped laughing and studied her stepsister, really looking her over.

“I’m sorry I laughed,” she paused, “You know Arya, you’re the best tree climber I’ve ever seen! Especially for someone so short!” Sansa smiled at her and reached out a hand to ruffle Arya’s already disheveled hair. Arya frowned and tried to bat the hand away. Sansa raised her eyebrows. “Fine, I’ll teach you how to use a sword. But I’m also going to teach you sewing, reading, and anything else I can think of.” Arya’s face lit up and then quickly dimmed as Sansa spoke.

“Why? I hate sewing!” she whined.

“Because it’ll be good for you, and it’s something you can show off to your mother.” Sansa reasoned. She held out her hand. Arya huffed her disappointment but after a moment’s hesitation clasped Sansa’s arm.

“Okay, but sword fighting first,” Arya smiled a wicked grin and Sansa laughed harder than she had in the last eight months. Arya wanted to hear that laugh again. She and Sansa picked up sticks and Sansa proceeded to show her how to hold it properly.

Arya was suddenly brought out of the happy memory by her mother’s cold voice breaking through her thoughts. Arya hadn’t heard what her mother had said but it didn’t sound flattering, so she frowned and started to fidget with the cuffs of the constricting sleeves.

“Mother! Focus please!” Myrcella shouted from a pile of gowns on the floor, effectively bring the attention away from Arya and back to herself. Cersei turned to her oldest daughter.

“Well perhaps if I knew what you were looking for,” she said, trying to puzzle out a dress that would fit Myrcella’s many requirements.

“Something fit for a Queen!” Myrcella flopped onto the bed with a whoosh. Golden curls splayed around her head in a halo. Cersei pursed her lips and regarded her daughter before rising from her chair.

“Come, ladies, I have just the thing, but we must speak of this to no one,” she held up a finger to her lips and quickly left the room.

“Oh! I do love a good intrigue!” Myrcella squealed as she followed her mother down the hall to one of the closed rooms. Arya was right on her heels. Cersei took out a key, unlocked the door and led the girls into the cold room. All the furniture was covered with dust sheets and Cersei pulled one off a trunk at the end of the bed. Dust flew around them in little clouds. Cersei opened the trunk and pulled out a cloth bundle, she untied the beaded laces and lifted a dress from the cream fabric.

“Waste not, want not,” Cersei said as she unfurled the dress. The gown cascaded from her hands like a silver waterfall. The fabric was delicate and soft, intricate beading sparkling in the broken light reaching through the shuttered windows.

“Oh, it’s perfect!” Myrcella cried as she grasped for the dress. Taking it from Cersei she held it up to her figure and twirled around.

“Look at these shoes!” Arya reached into the trunk and withdrew a pair of silver slippers covered in azure glass beads. “Where did you get these?” she asked. They were some of the finest, most delicate things she had ever seen.

“They’re Sansa’s dowry, for her wedding,” Cersei said. A laugh hiding in her voice.

“Cindersoot, married? To who, the chimney sweep?” Myrcella sneered, fingering the delicate silver fabric.

“Mother if this is her dress, perhaps she’ll want to wear it to the ball,” Arya lowered the shoes back into the chest.

“Since when does a royal function include commoners?” Myrcella scoffed.

“Well never, but she is our stepsister and the invitation did say to the ladies of the house-” Arya insisted.

“She’s not of noble blood,” Myrcella interrupted. She spoke slowly as if Arya wouldn’t understand her.

“By rights, she can go!” Arya protested voice rising.

“Yes, and who would notice, no one!” clipped Cersei, turning on Arya.

“Honestly Arya. Whose side are you on?” Myrcella held the dress up and twirled around again. Arya was so angry, she about told her whose side she was on when Sansa came through the open door holding an armload of firewood.

“What are you doing?” Sansa asked. Cersei and Myrcella startled. Myrcella held the dress away from herself and an awkward silence filled the room.

“Airing out your dress for the Masque,” Cersei said, giving Sansa a forced smile. 

“Her dress, but you just said-” Arya started but Myrcella interrupted her.

“I suppose for a commoner, it’ll have to do, I mean look at it. It’s practically an antique,” Myrcella brushed a spot on the dress as if she was clearing off dust.

“You wish me, to go to the Masque?” Sansa asked. Arya felt her face growing hot with anger. She had learned to bite her tongue around her mother and sister but seeing the look on Sansa’s face made her want to scream. Sansa looked as if she didn’t quite believe them but wanted to. Arya felt like she was about to burst with exasperation.

“Of course,” Cersei shook her head slightly, letting confusion show on her face.

“I don’t know what to say,” Sansa muttered. Arya could tell that Sansa wasn’t sure what to make of the offer.

“Say? honestly, Sansa, it hurts me you don’t feel like one of my daughters,” Cersei gave a small huff. Sansa started to reply.

“Well I only meant-”

“I thought we could all go as one big happy family!” Cersei clasped her hands together and smiled at Sansa. “That is, if you complete your chores in time, and mind your manners till then,” Sansa nodded, accepting the strings. 

“Ugh,” Arya sneered and walked out of the room, not meeting anyone’s gaze. As she was striding down the hall to get herself out of the constricting dress she could hear the last bits of conversation.

“What’s the matter with her?” Sansa’s voice followed her.

“She doesn’t want you to go,” Arya could barely hear Myrcella’s condescending tone and just about turned herself around to argue the point, but she knew it would only cause more trouble. Arya wanted to hit something and rip the tight dress off.

˜

“Do you really think there is only one perfect mate?” Jon skipped a stone across the river. The sky was overcast, and a cool breeze ruffled his hair. Jon had come to this river specifically because it was outside of the capitol. He wanted to be alone. Well, mostly alone. Since his father’s announcement about the Masque, he was being flocked by women constantly and it had only been a day. Jon had to sneak out in the back of Davos’ wagon. Successfully avoiding the ladies vying for his favor and Gendry who had been complaining that his job had been made ten times harder than before when he only had to worry about Jon running away.

“As a matter of fact, I do,” Davos replied. He was standing at his wagon on the riverbank and moving things around.

“Well, then how can you be certain to find them?” Jon’s brow furrowed. “And if you do find them, are they really the one for you or do you only think they are?” he picked up another rock and tested the weight of it. “Then what happens if the person you’re supposed to be with never appears. . . or she does but you’re too distracted to notice?” Jon began to pace. He never asked this much of other people. He preferred to keep his own counsel, but Davos was one of the smartest men alive and if he had no advice Jon felt he was doomed.

“You learn to pay attention,” Davos said. Jon stopped and was silent for a second. Davos reached into his wagon and pulled out two wooden contraptions that looked like smallish boats. 

“Then let’s say,” Jon started pacing again. “The Gods put two people on earth and they are lucky enough to find one another, but,” he paused, raising a finger, “one of them gets hit by lightning, well then what? Is that it? Or perchance you meet someone new and marry all over again, is that the lady you’re supposed to be with, or was it the first?” Davos came walking down to him, “And if, when the two of them are walking side by side and they’re both the one for you and you just happen to meet the first one first. Or was the second one supposed to be first?” Jon knew he was rambling, but he couldn’t stop. “And is everything just chance,” he skipped another stone across the river and listened to the plunk, plunk, plunk, of the rock as it hit the smooth dark water. “Or are some things meant to be?” he finished with a sigh and turned to see Davos smiling at him. 

“You cannot leave everything to Fate, boy! She’s got a lot to do! Sometimes you must give her a hand,” Davos patted him on the shoulder. Jon’s mind went back to lady Catelyn Tully. Had it been chance, or fate that they met? Jon would like to talk to her again except he had no idea how to find her. As Jon was considering all the thoughts running circles around his head Davos set the wooden contraptions down on the rocky shore.

“What’s this project?” Jon asked, momentarily distracted from his brooding.

“Would you care to see if they work?” Davos chuckled and proceeded to sit and start strapping his feet into the boat like things. Jon laughed and turned to skip his last stone before kneeling to help the other man.

˜

Sansa had Lemon Cake on a leash as they walked slowly through the forest. Lemon Cake was the manor’s resident pig and had the best nose for finding truffles. Market day was tomorrow, and they needed fresh truffles to sell if they were going to make it a profitable day. After the uncomfortable scene that morning Sansa had been unable to find Arya. She had looked for an hour, in every spot she could think of. Sansa was determined to talk to Arya but that would have to wait. Arya would find her when she was ready. She had a way of silently showing up right behind Sansa wherever she was, whatever she was doing, and scaring Sansa half to death because she never announced her presence.

As she walked Sansa’s thoughts drifted to what Cersei had said earlier that morning. “It pains me that you don’t feel like one of my daughters.” The words echoed in her mind. Sansa had tried, when she was younger, to think of Cersei as her mother. She had tried for years. She had been unable to do it. Sansa’s imaginings about her own mother were enough to place a wedge between her and her stepmother. And Cersei had never done anything to close the gap between them except offer a few choice backhanded compliments. As Sansa’s mind wandered she kneeled and dug her hands into the cold damp earth for more truffles.

Cersei had always shown blatant favoritism toward Myrcella. Arya was a disappointment and Sansa was inconsequential to her. The way Cersei treated Arya made Sansa angrier than her own poor treatment. As much as Sansa couldn’t think of Cersei as her mother she had very quickly taken Arya on as her sister. The two of them would sneak off to the orchard where they would play and work, and even train together. Sansa taught Arya everything she knew about sword fighting, and then, one day, Arya had beaten her in a match and Sansa knew she would never be able to best her sister again. Sansa had tried to teach her other things like sewing, and dancing, but Arya was the most stubborn person Sansa had ever met and would, for the most part, refuse to learn new skills that would come in handy for court life or her prospects of getting a husband.

Sansa caught the smell rain on the wind as it rustled her hair, blowing stray pieces across her face. Reaching up to tuck them behind her ear she noticed how dirty her hands had become. Sansa wished that for once she would be able to keep her hands clean for a whole day. But that had never happened. She was always covered in dirt, dust, soot, and flour. Sansa even helped Theon make paint sometimes. Because of the constant neglect, her nails were always breaking, so she kept them short. Today her hands, arms, and even dress were caked with dirt. Sansa could still feel ash from the fireplace on her face and knew her red hair would be covered with a grey film. Looking up at the river she decided with a small thrill, to go for a swim. She could do this one thing for herself. Just for a few minutes. Just to get clean. Sansa hastily tied Lemon Cake’s leash to a tree and started stripping off her outer layers of clothing as she ran down the hill to the riverbank.

When Sansa reached the pebbly shore of the dark river she tentatively stepped in. The water sent shivers up her legs, but she kept going, feeling herself becoming weightless as she was lifted and gently carried downstream. Sansa was floating, looking up at an overcast sky where thick grey clouds rolled above her. 

Sansa delighted in the cold water and let the tension slip from her muscles. All her senses were taken up by the river. Birds were chattering to each other and a mild wind rustled the trees. Sansa started to imagine she was the only person in the world. No responsibilities. No one to answer to. No one counting on her.

“Looks like rain!” Sansa’s heart jumped to her throat. She opened her eyes and saw an old man, fully clothed, standing above her. Standing. On the river. Sansa screamed. The man’s eyes went wide, he lost his balance and fell into the water. The things he had been standing on came bobbing up. Sansa gasped in some water and started coughing before she swam to help the man who came up after the boat-shaped shoes or maybe they were shoe sized boats.

˜

Sansa and the man had managed to swim back to the riverbank, both spluttering and each carrying one shoe boat. As they got closer to shore Sansa could see another man running downhill to them, into the cold water. He was calling out to the older man.

Sansa ignored them, trying not to fall into the river again while carrying the awkward boat shaped shoe and keeping a hand on the older man so he too wouldn’t fall in.

“I tripped over an angel,” the older man said, bringing Sansa’s attention to the man who had now joined them in the shallow water.

“My lady!” It was the prince. Prince Jon, Sansa’s eyes went wide. She hadn’t expected to see him again, she hoped she never would. But here he was. She had had two separate encounters with him yesterday and now again today. In the river. An extremely unlikely place. Fate must be trying to get her killed or imprisoned.

“Your Grace!” Sansa cried and started to curtsy, but her foot caught on a moss-covered rock and she slipped. Sansa went to her knees in the water and felt her face flush. The prince caught her around the waist. He was strong and had a tender touch. He steadied her and lifted until she was standing on firm ground. Her eyes never wandered from his. His eyes were so grey they were almost black. Sansa felt suddenly self-conscious at the state of her dress, or undress rather. “Careful it’s very slippery right there,” Sansa murmured, looking down to the ground. She folded her arms around herself, shivering against the chill air.

“Here, please allow me,” the prince said, taking off his cloak and draping it around her shoulders.

“Oh, thank you,” The cloak was dry and warm, Sansa pulled it close. She felt tingling where his fingers had been around her waist.

“Come along! We must record our findings!” called the older man as he strode away from them and headed through the woods. There was a bright flash and a distant crack of thunder before a gentle patter of rain started to fall. Sansa pulled the hood of the prince’s cloak over her head and started after the other man who was already far ahead of them.

A few silent minutes passed as they walked it was most likely less than that but to Sansa, it felt like hours. Sansa thought about speaking but whenever she went to open her mouth her mind wouldn’t supply words. Sansa wanted to ask the prince why he was out here. She wanted to ask about the Masque. She wanted to ask why he tried to run away. She wanted to ask why he was so compassionate to her. She said nothing.

“Lady Catelyn... this is, uh, Davos Seaworth,” the prince said haltingly, by way of introduction. “Ser Davos this is lady Catelyn Tully,” Sansa’s eyes widened. Davos Seaworth. One of the greatest minds in the world.

“My lady,” Davos turned to Sansa and bowed, “I believe we met rather informally earlier,” he laughed and started to wring out his shirtsleeve. Sansa was hit again with the sudden realization that she was pretending to be nobility. She was lying to the crown prince. And Davos Seaworth. If she could make it through this interaction she was sure she would be one of the luckiest people alive.

“Ser Davos, it’s my pleasure,” Sansa gave a small curtsy.

As the group walked Davos filled the silence with talk about the factors of the experiment, the design of the shoes. The weather. The river. The unexpected lady in the river. The flying device he planned on testing next, with both their help. Sansa listened closely, and the prince made noncommittal replies. 

Once they had reached a wagon loaded with bizarrely shaped contraptions the prince turned and addressed Sansa directly.

“Where are your attendants?” he asked. Sansa thought that it would be a good question if she had any attendants. The prince motioned for her to sit on a boulder and then sat next to her.

“I decided to give them the day off,” Sansa said casually. There were so many ways for her to get caught in these lies and she didn’t know what would happen if she was found out now. The prince seemed amenable enough and he had spared her life once already. However, she had met him three times, and if she kept meeting him, which she prayed she did not, the potential threat of punishment increased as her chances of keeping up this lie grew slimmer and slimmer.

“The day off? From what? Life?” the prince scoffed and ran a hand through his hair. Sansa just stared at him.

“Don’t you ever tire of having people wait on you all the time?” Sansa knew she tired of having to wait on someone else all the time. Sansa looked into his eyes and noticed he still had a slight purple mark on his forehead from where she threw the apple at him. It made her wince inwardly, she hadn’t wanted to hurt him. Well, she had wanted to hurt him at the time, but she hadn’t known who he was.

“Yes, but they’re servants, it’s what they do,” he looked puzzled and Sansa felt some bitterness rise in her chest. He had obviously never worked a day in his life. That was something she knew of course. He had no idea what it was like to work from daybreak to nightfall. She couldn’t fathom it.

“Well, I wish I could dismiss mine as easily as you do yours. Excuse me, I must be going,” a hint of the bitterness in her chest slipped into her voice and she rose to leave.

“You’re angry with me,” It was a statement. Sansa could tell there was a smile in his voice that was more infuriating than his comments.

“No,” she lied. Not meeting his eyes as she turned from him.

“Admit it,” he demanded, stepping in front of her and crossing his arms. Damn it! She still couldn’t lie flat out. Sansa lifted her gaze from his chest to his eyes. They were filled with curiosity and not a drop of shame. Part of her wanted to slap him and the other part felt sorry that he didn’t understand.

“Well, yes. If you must know,” she was already preparing for his next question.

“Why?” he shook his head, vaguely perplexed and a little teasing.

“Because you are trying to bait me with your snobbery,” she lifted her chin slightly trying to keep her resolve firm.

“I’m afraid my lady, that you are a walking contradiction, and I find that, rather fascinating,” he took a breath and blinked at her as if she were something he had never seen before.

“Me?” She asked, incredulous, voice rising.

“Yes, you! You spout the ideals of a utopian society, yet you live the life of a noblewoman!” he shook his head at her, exasperated. She wanted so desperately to put him in his place. It was an itch begging to be scratched.

“You own all the land there is, and yet you take no pride in working it! Is that not also a contradiction?” As soon as the words left her mouth Sansa wished she could take them back. She bit her tongue, talking back to royalty could get her killed. Despite the possible consequences, she couldn’t let him get away with calling her a hypocrite. The prince’s mouth twitched.

“Well, first, I’m arrogant, and now I have no pride. However do I manage that?” he raised his eyebrows. Soft rain continued to fall, making mist rise from the river. Sansa couldn’t keep herself from speaking.

“You have everything, and still the world holds no joy. Yet you insist on making fun of those who would see it for its possibilities,” Perhaps that was going too far. Sansa saw a hurt look forming in his eyes before it was replaced with something she couldn’t quite name. the prince got very quiet and Sansa’s heart skipped a beat as she waited for a reply.

“How do you do it?” His voice was soft and held none of the flippancy of earlier.

“What?” Unease filled her at his change of tone.

“Live each day with this kind of passion? Don’t you find it exhausting?” he asked, genuine curiosity evident in his eyes. Sansa smirked and readjusted the cloak around her shoulders.

“Only when I am around you,” she responded honestly, “Why do you like to irritate me so?”

“Why do you rise to the occasion?” he laughed, and his laugh was as warm as honey. Sansa liked it. He smiled at her and she smiled back, tucking a wet piece of hair behind her ear.

“Sansa?” a distant voice carried to her on the wind. Sansa panicked. She turned her head discreetly to look back and saw Arya in the distance, leading Lemon Cake and calling her name. It was apparently time to make her exit.

“Forgive me, Your Grace, I’ve lost track of the hour,” she spoke in a rush and quickly unwrapped herself from his cloak, handing it back to him as she strode away.

“But the wind, it’s perfect!” Davos protested. He held up an odd flying apparatus toward her. The wind had picked up and now the rain was falling sideways.

“I am sorry,” Sansa smiled at him as she hurried by. It was a shame though, she had wanted to see if the device would really fly. She doubted it would in this weather.

“I’m playing tennis tomorrow at noon, will you come?” The prince called to her. He seemed to be stuck standing in the place she left him. 

“I must go!” Sansa tried to not run as she made her way from her unusual companions. As she walked away Sansa caught the prince’s voice trailing after her.

“Why does she keep doing that?”

˜

As soon as Sansa was out of eyesight she ran through the woods, to where she had seen Arya and Lemon Cake. She was out of breath when she reached them, and she knew her feet were bleeding from the forest floor. Sansa saw Arya startle at her sudden appearance.

“Sansa! you’re all wet! Why are you running? What happened to your clothes? Where were you? Your bleeding!” Arya sounded panicked. She immediately dropped Lemon Cake’s leash, came running up to Sansa and gripped her elbows. Sansa felt her brain stop functioning as it failed to come up with a single reply that wouldn’t sound like a complete lie. As she was trying to come up with an answer Sansa saw Arya’s face drain of color as dread filled it. Arya became deathly still. “Sansa. What. Happened?” she placed emphasis on every word.

Sansa swallowed. Her face turned red. She hadn’t thought about how she would look to someone else, soaking wet, in her undergarments, bleeding, running, now several horrible possibilities came flooding into her mind.

“What? Nothing, nothing, I… I just went swimming,” Sansa shook her head. It wasn’t a lie. “I heard you calling for me and I ran back because I didn’t want to worry you,” not a whole lie anyway. Sansa just didn’t have to tell her about the rest of the unbelievable encounter.

“You went swimming?” Arya sounded skeptical. Sansa nodded and glanced down. The rain started to fall harder. Arya frowned, “I was looking for you and I found Lemon Cake wandering around the riverbank. I was afraid something happened! I’ve been calling for you for at least ten minutes, I was about to run home!” Arya was angry, and Sansa felt guilty.

“I know, I’m sorry,” Sansa spoke softly, “I was just covered in dirt and I wanted to be clean and…” it sounded weak when she said it out loud. “I am sorry,” Sansa looked into her sister’s eyes, trying to will forgiveness out of her. After a while Arya seemed to deflate, the anger leaving her. It was replaced with mild annoyance and embarrassment.

“You really went swimming, without me?” Arya asked. Sansa bit her lip as she gave a little nod.

“Yes,” it was barely a whisper. 

“Alright, I forgive you,” Arya sighed, “come on, let’s find your shoes. You shouldn’t run through the woods barefoot,”

Sansa smiled and took a tentative step forward. Her feet were starting to sting now that she had stopped running and she winced as she put weight on them.  
They walked for a few moments in silence until something occurred to Sansa.

“Why were you looking for me?”

“Because I was worried about you?” Arya responded, giving Sansa a flat look. Sansa returned the expression.

“No, what I meant was, why were you looking for me in the first place?”

“Oh, I… well, I wanted to talk to you about this morning. It’s just that you know, well, you know that Myrcella was lying right? I do want you to come to the Masque,” Arya kept her gaze fixed on the ground as she spoke.

“I know. Did you really think I would believe her over you?” Sansa pursed her lips and leaned into Arya’s shoulder. Arya shrugged and shook her head. A stillness settled over them as Sansa thought of what to say next. “Arya listen to me. You are my sister. The one I claim. There is nothing that Myrcella can do, or say, to make me give you up or love you less. Not one thing,”

A tear slipped down Arya’s cheek. Sansa swallowed around the lump in her own throat and decided to lighten the mood. “I’m sorry I went swimming without you,”

Arya laughed.

“Well since it’s probably the worst thing you’ve ever done, I will forgive you… This time… but don’t make a habit of it,” Arya bowed her head majestically. 

Sansa laughed, and her laugh felt hollow. Going swimming without Arya wasn’t the worst thing she had done. She was lying to her sister right now by not telling her about the prince. Part of Sansa wanted to tell Arya everything, but another part of her wanted to keep the strange interactions to herself for a little while longer. Guilt and excitement mingled in her stomach and Sansa felt as if she might throw up. What if she never saw the prince again? What if she did? Both possibilities made her want to throw up a little more. Her life had very quickly spiraled out of control and Sansa wasn’t sure if she could correct it. Or even if she wanted to.

“Why are you smiling?” Arya asked.

“Hmm?” Sansa realized she had been imagining the prince’s eyes and had to shake the image away. “No reason,” another lie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact: In the book, the pig is named Petit-Four, which is a kind of small cake. So I thought Lemon Cake was a good adjustment.


End file.
